


In Search of a Happy Ending

by napkins



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Groundhog Day, genre hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/napkins/pseuds/napkins
Summary: Fakir is sure there's something he can do to bring them all together once again for a happy ending. He just hasn't found the right story yet.





	In Search of a Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blyth3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blyth3/gifts).



There had to be something he could do. He was a descendent of Drosselmeyer, blessed or cursed with the power of stories, no matter how he looked at it. He could write them all a happy ending, if he could only get them out of the story. Or, perhaps, into a new one.

The librarian, Ms. Rook, had always had a smile for him in the past, but as Fakir checked out stack after stack of books, each differing more from the last, she gave him a curious look. He’d grabbed many of them at random, picking from as many different shelves as he could. One book in particular had called to him, but now, in the pile, he couldn’t tell. In the end, Ms. Rook stamped them and let him take them all out, regardless of usual limits.

That night, he sat down and started to write. 

He woke to the sun in his eyes and a crick in his neck, a pen clenched in his hand as he slumped over the desk atop scattered papers that were more ink blots than words. He was still in the cottage by the lake, where Ahiru was still a duck, and Mytho and Rue still lived in a story of their own. Happy, perhaps, but he could write them all happier, if he just picked the right story.

He threw open the door, blinking slightly at the sun that was just peeking over the trees that surrounded the cottage. Something easy, something classic, that was what he should start with. Something with a happy ending, where they all had their roles and could all live together. There was a stack of books from the library he’d sorted that were scattered entries in a series - no matter how dire the situation — mean teachers, bad grades, bullies, or rumors — the protagonists made it out okay with college offers and promises to be friends forever. That seemed like a good start.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ahiru, you got detention again?”

“I really think Mr. Cat is out to get me — I never make it one day without him calling on me for an answer or asking for my assignment before anyone else’s, especially when he _knows_ I don’t have it!”

“But today was the day we were supposed to go shopping for homecoming dresses!”

“You know Mytho won’t ask anyone but you — you two are a shoe-in for Homecoming King and Queen, without a doubt!”

Rue sighed, slamming her locker shut. “He hasn’t been meeting my eyes as often, and every time we sit together for lunch, he never says anything. I feel like he’s drifting away.”

“I’m sure it’s just the pressure of the big game! He’ll be great; he’s got Fakir to back him up, and they’ve never lost a game this year. And then you two will be announced King and Queen and you’ll get to ride on the float and wave to everyone and you’ll be a picture-perfect couple who will set the standard for years to come!” Ahiru was staring off, stars in her eyes, even as she clutched tightly to Rue’s hands, to the point that Rue could almost see it herself. 

“It won’t do any good if you have detention on that day…”

“I know, I know, but Pike and Lilie kept passing me notes asking if Fakir was going to ask me or if I’d asked him yet, and it’s almost as if Lilie _times_ it so I’m reading it when Mr. Cat turns around!” Ahiru slumped against the lockers, then straightened up abruptly, fists clenched. “I’ll just have to be on perfect behavior for the rest of the week, and then he _has_ to excuse me from detention!” She turned to clutch Rue’s hands again. “I’ll be there to support your campaign no matter what!” 

Rue squeezed Ahiru’s hands gently, a wry smile creeping across her face. “Well, Pike and Lilie have a point — _has_ Fakir asked you? Or have you asked him?”

Ahiru’s face went so red Rue worried for a moment, before her friend breathed out, “No, I’ve been waiting for him to do it, but do you really think he would? Do you think he’d even say yes if _I_ asked him? I can’t ask him — that’d be too forward! What am I thinking, that’s impossible, he’d never say yes to someone like me!”

Rue gently touched Ahiru’s arm, stopping her pacing and giving half a glare to the students who had paused in the hallway, scenting drama like sharks scented blood. “You can only try. But,” she said as she smiled, making sure she caught Ahiru’s eyes. “Whenever Mytho looks up to wave at me in the stands, Fakir is always watching you.”

 

~~~~~~

 

Fakir shoved the papers away from him. Was this truly the story, or was it his will on the story? The stakes were so low as to be a relief, grades and detention and games that wouldn’t matter in a year, but the emotions hit too close. Was that what they needed to do? He sighed, then looked out to see the sun had long set. His neck and wrist ached; a good night’s sleep would likely do him good and he could tackle this problem again in the morning.

The sun broke over the trees, crossing his face as he blinked and groaned, one hand coming up to massage the crick in his neck from falling asleep over his desk. Fakir could have sworn he had actually turned in the night before, properly in his bed, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had woken up in the middle of the night, dreams still clinging like cobwebs, and sat down to write, only to succumb to sleep once more. He shook his head, giving Ahiru a nod as she came in to check on him. Everything was fine. The post came at noon, as unnervingly early as it had the day before, and more unnervingly, brought the same letters and advertisements as had come yesterday. The same flyer for a new restaurant, the same notice that bills were due, the same notice that a book at the library was in. At least that one he could deal with.

At the library, he visited the front desk first, bringing the notice with him. “You need a new assistant, this one’s sending out duplicate notices. I picked this one up yesterday, but if you’ve got anything similar, I’ll take it.”

Ms. Rook picked up the piece of paper, looking at him oddly. “We just got this back last night; there’s no way you could have picked it up.”

Fakir felt his brow furrow, casting his mind back to the stack of books sitting on his desk. Had it been there when he left? It had to have been — he had been flipping through it in search of more tropes to utilize just the night before. He took the notice back from Ms. Rook, who was still watching him warily. “I must have been mistaken,” he hedged. Then he fled to the stacks, looking closer at it. It looked exactly as he remembered, for a book he remembered. What was going on? As he got to the shelf, the book was there, but as he pulled it out, he realized the content had changed. Instead of the latest in a series about two twins at a high school together, it was about a baseball team trying to make it to nationals. He stared at it, then at the title on the front cover, then at the title on the notice. What was going on?

He took the book to the front, grabbing some other books as he went to cover. As Ms. Rook stamped his book, he looked at it closely. It was stamped with yesterday’s date, as were the other books she stamped. A quick glance at the rotating calendar on her desk confirmed the same date: yesterday’s. Rather than risk her looking at him strangely again, Fakir simply grabbed the books off of the counter. “Thank you again, Ms. Rook.”

She looked at him strangely anyway, tilting her head as she did so. “Take care of yourself, Fakir. You seem pale today.”

“Must be something I did yesterday,” he stammered as he fled. 

Back in the cottage, he spread out the books he had checked out, quickly rifling through the other piles to see if he could find the book he had picked up yesterday. The others in the series were there, as they had been before, but the latest, the one the notice should have been for, was missing. He examined the book that claimed to have the same filing number — but radically different title and content — again. There was no mistaking it.

“What is going on?” 

Ahiru chose that moment to make her way inside, hopping from one stack of books to the other as she moved towards Fakir’s desk with a soft quack. 

“It’s the strangest thing.” He showed her the book, tilting it so that she could see the title. “I would swear this wasn’t the book I requested, but here it is nonetheless.” She moved closer, nudging at the next page until he turned it. “Alright, alright, I’ll read it. I might as well.” A story was a story, after all.

An hour later, he still sat at his desk, Ahiru dozing beside him, long having given up trying to get him to keep holding it at an angle she could read. He tapped one finger against his cheek. “This might work,” he muttered. “This just might work.”

~~~~~

“With Mytho and Fakir on the team, surely that’ll be enough to take us to Koushien!”

“The Ravens have been at the top of the league for the past five years, what makes you think this is the year?” Rue paused in tying her shoes, turning her head to watch Ahiru, who was in turn watching the field, eyes burning. 

“Yeah, but this year Fakir is the catcher, and Mytho is starting pitcher, so with Fakir’s direction, they’ll be unstoppable! We won’t be able to keep up with cheering for all of the strikeouts!”

“You do know that all the other pitchers have said that Fakir is impossible to work with or take direction from, right?” Rue could almost see Ahiru’s hackles rise, and she hid a smile. It really was too easy, sometimes.

“That’s just because they don’t understand! His calls aren’t wrong, even if he doesn’t always explain why he does some of the weird ones, but if it doesn’t work, it’s usually because they ignored him! Mytho’s always worked well with him!”

“Yes, but he won’t always have just one pitcher, you know that.”

“Well then, we just have to cheer extra hard so they strike out quickly and no one gets tired! Or so that they have all the energy they need to keep going, no matter what!”

Rue sighed as she looked out the field, watching the players practice. Mytho was on the mound, with Fakir behind the plate, expression even more inscrutable behind his mask. As she and Ahiru watched, Mytho wound up, his leg extending and bending as he pivoted on his grounding leg, the motion almost taking him all the way around in a graceful spin. The ball seemed to spin with him, the pitch curving from what seemed like far too wide to ever make it to smack straight into Fakir’s glove. Fakir hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d initially given Mytho the call. 

Ahiru turned to Rue again. “See that! When they work together, there’s no way the Ravens will be able to stand up to that! We’ll go to Koushien for sure!”

~~~~

Fakir sighed and pushed aside his pages again, shuffling them slightly as he reread them. Was a championship match really the best way to go? It had all of the proper elements: an underdog story, a decent fall and then comeback in the tournament arc, but something seemed to be missing from the conclusion. Where did they go from winning nationals? Was winning all there was? Looking out the window revealed another sun that was past set, and he decided he would leave it for tomorrow. He could read over it and see what needed to be fixed, along with the other piece he had started, if he could find it….

Morning broke with the same beam of sunlight crossing his eyes and alerting him to the way he had fallen asleep over his desk, much to his body’s continued protests. He was _sure_ this time he had fallen asleep in his bed, and had no recollection of waking up, much less of moving to his desk. More to the point, what he had fallen asleep on were blank pages, no sign of the story he had been writing the day before, or the day before that. 

Ahiru’s insistent quack broke him from where he was frantically shoving pages off the desk, picking up stacks of papers and books in search of either story he had written, or the book he had been reading the day before. He whirled on her. “You haven’t seen the book from yesterday, have you? The one about baseball?” 

She looked startled, then concerned, and again he was struck by how many emotions he was able to read on a duck’s face by now, or maybe he just knew Ahiru’s body language in any form. She had scarcely needed language to communicate through dancing, and though she would never have the grace human limbs did — though hers had been a thing of gawky angles and shy poses — she was almost better able to express herself than many of the people in town. Her gaze now told him that she thought he was being absurd, and speaking nonsense. 

“I brought in a book yesterday from the library. I read it to you, then started writing. That one?” At that, she moved to the stack of books, alternately pecking and tugging until one fell out. He picked it up, recognizing it as one he had gone through a couple days ago. “No, it wasn’t this one…” he trailed off, continuing to clutch the book.

When the mail came early, he was all but expecting it, almost hoping that it would come at its normal time, or even late. Better to grumble than have another piece of evidence in a growing pile of suspicion. Adding to that pile was a notice from the library, for the same reference number it had been before, and the title that he had requested.

On the way to the library, Fakir stopped by a stand, requesting a newspaper, unsurprised when the top of it read a date two days ago, the first day he had checked out the odd book. The library yielded a familiar scene, Ms. Rook a little taken aback at the way he smiled at her and asked if she had any books on time loops. 

“I don’t believe so, but there are a number of books that deal with time travel in this section. If you come back tomorrow, Faus will be here tomorrow — they know much more about the science fiction selection.” She scribbled down a series of numbers, and Fakir was almost unsurprised to see that it matched closely the reference number on the notice he had received. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it was unlikely he would meet Faus at this rate.

Upon reaching the section, it was clear that the book that belonged to the reference number had changed yet again, this time to something with planets and spaceships on the cover, a blanket of stars behind them. What was going on? Why did this book keep changing? Why was the reference number the same? He looked further through the section, picking out a couple of books that looked promising, before realizing that the books he had checked out alongside the one yesterday had also vanished from his cottage. He would have to make a point to read or at least skim them today to find anything relevant.

He tried not to look at the stamp as Ms. Rook checked out the books, despite the now unignorable pile of evidence of a loop. 

“I’m repeating the same day,” he said, as soon as the door was closed behind him in the cottage, books dropped on the desk. Ahiru quacked in response, hopping closer to peck his ear gently. He stroked her neck absently. “I’m not being overdramatic. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I keep receiving a notice from the library about a book I requested, and it is a different book each time I go in. Except each time I go in, it is the same day. I wake up on my desk, in the midst of writing, get the notice, find a different book there, and come back here. Everything I’ve done the previous days is gone.”

Ahiru tilted her head, then quacked as she tapped the stack of papers with one foot and then nudged the pen, looking back at Fakir. “I was trying to write a story, yes. That’s not anything new.” He sat down, instantly tilting back to stare at the ceiling and letting his head hang there before he sat back up at Ahiru’s next quack. “Of course it was about you.” His brow furrowed. “One of these days it’ll work, you’ll see. Stop that,” he started, before giving up, seeing Ahiru walk out the door of the cottage, back towards the lake. He sighed. It was all to help her, to help all of them — why couldn’t she see that? He picked up the book he had gotten from the library, reading the title for the first time. It wasn’t a genre he was as familiar with, so the sun was lower than he’d liked by the time he’d skimmed it and set pen to paper. The book was leading him down this direction, so he would follow.

~~~~~

The expanse of stars glittered before them as the four stood on the bridge, watching the enemy ship approach them. 

“Orders, Captain?” To Rue's credit, her voice hardly shook, her posture ever-perfect as she waited on Mytho’s response.

“Hold steady, of course!” Ahiru’s voice, on the other hand, trembled as much as her clenched hands did, but she also never broke her gaze from the view in front of them, despite a half-hearted admonishment from Rue.

“She’s right. We can’t turn away now, not if we hope to defeat their fleet and restore Academy order to this corner of the system. Fakir, the helm is yours - keep us out of range of their weapons as much as you can. We’ll try to draw their fire and see if we can’t outlast them. I’d rather have prisoners than corpses.”

“Sir!” Three voices echoed his orders, in varying levels of agreement, but to a one, all went to their stations. The Corvid clan wasn’t particularly widespread, but they were insistent - once they’d set their eyes on a planet, they took it over, regardless of casualty. They wouldn’t allow this to happen here.

~~~~~~~  
Sighing, Fakir tapped his pen against the page, heedless of the ink blots that spattered it. Even with the setting different, it _felt_ the same as they’d lived before. He could see it: even after the Corvid were defeated, ship assignments would change and they’d be happy, but happy apart, even in a new world. Something else needed to change, more than just the setting. Circumstances, motivations, he needed something fresh. He pushed away from the desk, pacing for a bit until he finally put himself into bed; even if he knew he would wake up on his desk, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get at least a little restful sleep. 

Sure enough, he opened his eyes into the sun that crossed his desk once more, but this time he did not wait for the post to bring the library notice. Ahiru had given him a suspicious quack as he’d rushed through breakfast and haphazardly cleaned up afterward, but didn’t feel like explaining to her again. The library held the answers, and possibly Faus would be there earlier in the day.

However when he arrived, it was Ms. Rook sitting behind the desk as usual. “Good morning, Ms. Rook. Do you know if Faus is in at all today?” Fakir was thankful for all the time he spent at the library, as Ms. Rook did not even furrow her brow at his bluntness or odd request, accepting it at face value. “Faus? I don’t believe so, but I can send a note to them telling them you asked. Though I believe the book you asked for came in today.” She turned to pick up the notice from a stack that Fakir recognized as the ones that went out in the post.

He thanked the librarian and headed back to the stacks, heart fluttering about his throat as he thought about what the book would be today. Nothing had worked so far, but there was something in his gut that told him to keep trying, to keep searching. 

During the last loop, he had realized the library shelf that held his book — _when had he started thinking about it as his_? — had changed contents, and this time, looking around, he could see that the rest of the library remained the same as it always had been. So what was driving the change? Or who?

Approaching the shelf this time, he was surprised to see it full of screenplays and scripts. Perhaps this was the approach he needed to break through the barrier that had been holding him back? He picked up the book off the shelf, and thumbing through it, entirely forgot to pick up any other books. He relinquished his hold on it barely long enough for Ms. Rook to stamp it to check it out for him.

Once home, Ahiru greeted him with an indignant quack for having missed lunch entirely, but Fakir merely plated some grain one-handed and ignored her peck at his wrist when he set the plate in front of her. This, _this_ was what he’d been looking for, he was sure of it. The drama, the tension, the multitude of roles, even played by the same actor: it would give his story the life and purpose he’d been missing!

~~~~~

_THE CRACK OF THE SLAP ECHOES_

RUE: How dare you! Mytho loves me and only me! He would never be taken in by someone like you!

ODILE (played by Rue’s actress): *LAUGHS* Oh? You think you have any hold over him still? You, who can’t hold a candle to me?

_SIDELINES_

AHIRU: But aren’t they twin sisters? They look identical…

LILIE: Hush, Ahiru! The passion of sisterly rivalry burns the hottest when the sisters are identical but one is far prettier than the other!

RUE: You may have my face, but you are nothing compared to me!

ODILE, laughing again cruelly: So you haven’t been told? Poor Rue, even after all you’ve been through, no one told you that _you_ were the clone all along? I suppose it’s better that way, after all.

RUE, throwing a glove down: Enough! I challenge you to a duel!

ODILE: A dance-off? So be it. _SHE SNAPS HER FINGERS AND A BOOMBOX APPEARS_

 

~~~~~

Fakir sat back sharply, staring at the page in abject horror. What had he been thinking? Evil twins, clones, and a rap battle dance off? This couldn’t be the way. This wouldn’t get them anywhere but caught up in storyline unfolding into more dramatic storyline after storyline. 

Even though the sun had hardly set, he blew out the candle and got into bed, drawing the covers up to shut out both Ahiru’s questioning beak and the book that taunted him from his desk still.

He took comfort in the fact that it was gone when he awoke, his arm draped where it would have been. Breakfast was a rushed affair once again, with apologies made to Ahiru as her insistent quacking followed him out the door as he bolted to the library.

When he arrived, it wasn’t Ms. Rook sitting at the desk waiting for him, but a taller figure, wearing a cloak draped about their shoulders as they sat, calmly stamping books to set aside. Fakir frowned. Everything else about the days up to this point had been the same — who was this new librarian and why were they here now? He approached the desk, hanging back about half a step more than he would normally.

“I heard you’ve been asking after me,” the librarian said, stamping another book before looking up at Fakir and blinking their grey eyes slowly at him. 

“You must be Faus,” Fakir guessed.

They stood, nodding. “You should come with me. You must have questions.”

Fakir watched, stunned, before his brain caught up and he blurted, “How are you here? If the days are repeating, how are you here and not Ms. Rook as usual?”

“Oh good, you’ve figured that far out at least. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.” Faus drifted between him, their cloak flaring out behind him and reminding Fakir rather unsettlingly of the Bookmen. “Tell me, what else have you figured out?”

“That the only thing that changes is the book waiting here for me. That the number is the same, but the library shelf changes to fit its organization. That everything but the book, myself, and what I write are the same.” He turned towards Faus again, matching their stride. “You still haven’t answered _my_ question, though. How did you break the cycle?”

Faus shook their head. “Not the right question, but close enough I can give you a hint. I got a note from Ms. Rook saying you were asking for me, so I made sure I was here. Questions _want_ to be answered, so I am here.”

“I hate double-speak,” Fakir muttered, under his breath. It really was like dealing with breaking out of the story the first time, oblique answers and no steady ground. He set his shoulders, trying to remember the rhythm of it. He wished Ahiru was here with him, her blunt appraisal of any situation would have been helpful here. He tried to call her to mind. “So is the book mine?”

Faus smiled at him, nodding. “In a sense. It wants to be, but it does not know what it _needs_ to be.”

There was pressure building behind his eyes, but Fakir didn’t want to show the weakness pinching the bridge of his nose would bring. _Ahiru. Remember Ahiru. This is all for her._ “What do you mean, _need_? Why would I need a book?”

“You are a writer, are you not? Are not writers inspired by the stories they themselves have been told or experienced?”

He nodded slowly, thinking of the stories he had written, the ones that had disappeared. “Though it keeps changing.”

“The story is not what it needs to be.”

“What about what I need it to be?”

Faus tilted their head to the side, so like Ahiru that Fakir’s chest hurt. “Are the story’s needs and the author’s needs not the same thing in the end?” They turned, reaching up and making Fakir realize with a start they were at the shelf that was labeled with the reference number of his book. _Was it really his?_ They handed him the book with a small smile. “Ask yourself, why does this story need to be written?”

As soon as Fakir’s fingers closed around the book, Faus turned and walked back to the desk, their cloak fluttering behind them. Fakir stared after them, wanting to call them back but not knowing what question he had left. Why did the story need to be written? Because Ahiru was still a duck, because Mytho and Rue were in another realm entirely. Because he was a descendent of Drosselmeyer. Because he could fix this. Right?

He looked down at the book in his hands, the cover and title hinting at arranged marriages and titled lords, but most importantly, happy endings. He tapped the cover once, opening it to quickly flip through the first few pages to find with surprise that it was already checked out in his name. When had Faus done that? Looking toward the desk showed them stamping books once again, but under his gaze, they looked up and nodded, just once.

Ahiru was in a state when he returned, flapping about his legs and then hopping around the room, quacking frantically as she all but shepherded him to the kitchen table. He had forgotten to eat that morning, leaving the breakfast he’d set out to get cold on the table, but even as he sat down and started to eat, her feathers remained ruffled. He smoothed them down with one hand, gently, even as she eyed him, tilting her head this way and that.

“It was important.” She narrowed her eyes at that, but didn’t move away, so he continued. “It’ll all work out in the end, for everyone. I promise. I finally got some answers, so I should finally make some progress.” For his trouble, Ahiru let him stroke her feathers for a little longer, before undoing all his work by ruffling them again at him before leaving him with a slight nip to his fingers. Even so, he felt his lips quirk up in a smile. How good it would be if they were all together again.

There was still plenty of time left in the day, so he familiarized himself with the beats of the story the book had given him this time before sitting down to write. 

~~~~~~~~

“Switch with me. Quickly!” Ahiru whispered in Lady Rue’s ear, even as she felt her friend’s elbow in undignified places, nudging her to the side.

“What? Why? Oh!” Before she could protest further, Ahiru had slipped behind her, the passing rustle of her dress, a soft white organza with blue and pink trim that should not have looked quite so well on her the only indication that anything was amiss, even if she looked fair ready to whistle at her own ingenuity. Lady Rue had been ready to reprimand her if she had made another sound. There was no good in making a scene now — already the row of gentlemen across from them in the reel were looking puzzled, but as she registered them as simply invitations that had been sent out to mollify the local society and no one of import, she did not let herself worry further. 

Then she looked further down the line, and realized what Ahiru had done. 

She wished abruptly that the slippers she had worn, the red ones that went so well with the elegantly cut dress and overrobe she wore, had a heel that she could grind on top of Ahiru’s foot. Lord Mytho stood there, posture perfect and gaze on nothing and no one but the wall opposite. He certainly was not looking at her. 

Before she could lean in to Ahiru and whisper her dissent, the music started. The reel was one she knew and had danced all too frequently, and while it was a blessing she knew the steps and rhythm in her bones, it meant her mind was all together too free to fret over how soon she and Lord Mytho would meet and become partners for the rest of it. 

She forced an expression onto her face, the one the _ton_ called her haughty for, but she was the daughter of a Marquess, and took the opinion of no one. Not even Lord Mytho, whose hand was extended towards her.

She let herself admit he looked well tonight, a grey waistcoat and a cravat tied in a precise mail coach fall. She suspected Fakir in having a hand in that, having witnessed Lord Mytho once too often with collar points drooping and cravat simply draped as if he had forgotten mid-dressing. It was of no consequence; no matter what he said or did tonight, it would not forgive him.

“You outshine even the stars tonight, Lady Rue.” From anyone else, she would have laughed, but the simple sincerity of Lord Mytho’s statement brought an unwanted flush to her cheeks, even as her hand tightened in his further than the dance prescribed. He was the only one who did not flatter her. Against everything she had told herself, she felt her shoulders loosening. Lord Mytho had always been easy to dance with, and as they passed down the lines to the end, Lady Rue could hear Ahiru sighing happily, even as her own partner tried to catch her attention. Privately, Lady Rue thought she could happily dance with Lord Mytho forever.

~~~~~~

Closer, he thought. It hadn’t clicked yet, but like an instrument being tuned, he could feel the shape of it. 

As he blinked to let his eyes refocus, he realized Ahiru had fallen asleep at the corner of the desk and was dozing on top of his other papers. He pushed down the brief stab of guilt that he hadn’t even noticed her come in and that it likely meant he’d missed dinner. It would all be okay in the end, he repeated to himself. Even if he’d spent less time with Ahiru, the real Ahiru, lately. Faus had said something about the shape the story wanted to be - perhaps he should ask Ahiru about it when he saw what the next day’s book would be.

 

Fakir didn’t know if he was _surprised_ , exactly, but looking down and seeing a book of fairy tales didn’t feel as jarring as he supposed he should. Faus was back at the desk again, watching him as he flipped through the book somewhat absently. They watched him closely as they stamped the book, but he made no comment, not to anyone, until he’d made it back home and Ahiru greeted him with a quack over his still-full breakfast plate. 

He set the book down, tearing his eyes away from it as if it had a gravity of its own. In some ways, it was the heaviest item he’d brought into the cottage.

“What makes a happy ending?” he asked out loud, expecting a series of answering quacks from Ahiru’s position— she always had an opinion when it came to story writing, even if that opinion was to just try something. This time, though, his eyes snapped to her at her silence as she pecked at a stack of papers. None of the papers were out of line, and he couldn’t think what she was doing with them. So Fakir asked again.

“Ahiru, are you happy? Here, like this, I mean?”

That did it. She flapped over to him, then all over him, a flurry of feathers and short, sharp quacks, interspersed with affectionate pecks to his ears or preening his hair with her beak. He laughed and stroked a hand down her back, sinking easily into the comfort she always brought.

“And Rue and Mytho. Do you think they’re happy? Ow, stop that,” he added, as she pecked at his fingers, just once, but her point was made. “I know, I miss them too.” He thought of them, a fairy tale still, but perhaps. Perhaps he didn’t need to write them all a new story, perhaps he just had to make the fairy tale just a bit real in this world too.

_East of the sun and west of the moon…_

The liminal spaces in between, when the world was all things and nothing concrete. Perhaps he could draw them together then. They could catch what happiness they could, the moments they could, in the time that they had. He picked up a pen and began again.

 _Once upon a time, between day and night, there was a prince, a princess, a knight and a girl…_ and as the sun hit the surface of the lake, scattering gold everywhere, Fakir looked out to see the silhouettes of two people he loved dearly, and smiled at the sound of footsteps, human and not his own running towards them.


End file.
